THE VALE OF GRANTHAM.--BELVOIR.
Pembroke crossed the little wooden bridge which lies over the Witham;
he scoured the field; he leaped every stile and gate in his way, and
at last gained the enclosure that leads to the top of the hill, where
he descried a light moving, and very rightly conjectured it must be
the lantern carried by the countess's attendant. Another spring over
the shattered fence cleared all obstacles, and he found himself close
to Lady Tinemouth, who was leaning on the arm of a gentleman.
Pembroke stopped at this sight. Supposing she had been met by some
person belonging to the neighborhood, whose readier gallantry now
occupied the place which Miss Dundas had prevented him from filling,
he was preparing to retreat, when Lady Tinemouth happening to turn
her head, imagined, from the hesitating embarrassment of his manner,
that he was a stranger, who had lost his way, and accosted him with
that inquiry.
Pembroke bowed in some confusion, and related the simple fact of his
having heard that she had quitted Lady Shafto's house without any
guard but the servant, and that the moment he learned the
circumstance he had hurried out to proffer his services. The countess
not only thanked him for such attention, but, constrained by a
civility which at that instant she could have wished not to have been
necessary, asked him to walk forward with her to the abbey, and
partake of some refreshment.
"But," added she, "though I perfectly recollect having seen another
gentleman in Lady Shafto's room besides Doctor Denton, I have not the
honor of knowing your name."
"It is Somerset," returned Pembroke; "I am the son of that Lady
Somerset, who, during the last year of her life, had the happiness of
being intimate with your ladyship."
Lady Tinemouth expressed her pleasure at this meeting; and turning to
the gentleman who was walking in silence by her side, said, "Mr.
Constantine, allow me to introduce to you the cousin of the amiable
Miss Beaufort."
Thaddeus, who had too well recognized the voice of his false friend
in the first accents he addressed to the countess, with a swelling
heart bent his head to the cold salutation of Somerset. Hearing that
her ladyship's companion was the same Constantine whom he had
liberated from prison, Pembroke was stimulated with a desire to take
the perhaps favorable occasion to unmask his double villany to Lady
Tinemouth; and conceiving a curiosity to see the man whose person and
meretricious qualities had blinded the judgment of his aunt and
cousin, he readily obeyed the second invitation of the countess, and
consented to go home and sup with her.
Meanwhile, Thaddeus was agitated with a variety of emotions. Every
tone of Pembroke's voice, reminding him of happier days, pierced his
heart, whilst a sense of his ingratitude awakened all the pride and
indignation of his soul. Full of resentment, he determined that,
whatever might be the result, he would not shrink from an interview,
the anticipation of which Pembroke (who had received from himself an
intimation of the name he had assumed) seemed to regard with so much
contemptuous indifference.
Not imagining that Somerset and the count had any personal knowledge
of each other, Lady Tinemouth begged the gentlemen to accompany her
into the supper-parlor, Pembroke, with inconsiderate, real
indifference, passed by Thaddeus to give his hand to the countess.
Thaddeus was so shocked at this instance of something very like a
personal affront, that, insulted in every nerve, he was obliged to
pause a moment in the hall, to summon coolness to follow him with a
composed step and dispassionate countenance. He accomplished this
conquest over himself, and taking off his hat, entered the room. Lady
Tinemouth began to congratulate herself with many kind expressions on
his arrival. The eyes of Pembroke fixed themselves on the calm but
severe aspect of the man before him; he stood by the table with such
an air of noble greatness, that the candid heart of Pembroke Somerset
soon whispered to himself, "Sure nothing ill can dwell in such a
breast!"
Still his eyes followed him, when he turned round, and when he bent
his head to answer the countess, but in a voice so low that it
escaped his ear. Pembroke was bewildered. There was something in the
features, in the mien of this foreigner, so like his friend Sobieski!
But then Sobieski was all frankness and animation; his cheek bloomed
with the rich coloring of youth and happiness; his eyes flashed
pleasure, and his lips were decked with smiles. On the contrary, the
person before him was not only considerably taller, and of more manly
proportions, but his face was pale, reserved, and haughty; besides,
he did not appear even to recollect the name of Somerset; and what at
once might destroy the supposition, his own was simply Constantine.
These reasonings having quickly passed through the mind of Pembroke,
they left his heart unsatisfied. The conflict of his doubts flushed
his cheeks; his bosom beat; and keeping his searching and ardent gaze
riveted on the man who was either his friend or his counterpart, on
Lady Tinemouth turning away to lay her cloak down, the eyes of the
young men met. Thaddeus turned paler than before. There is an
intelligence in the interchange of looks which cannot be mistaken; it
is the communication of souls, and there is no deception in their
language. Pembroke flew forward, and catching hold of his friend's
hand, exclaimed in an impetuous voice, "Am I right? Are you
Sobieski?"
"I am," returned Thaddeus, almost inarticulate with emotion, and
hardly knowing what to understand by Somerset's behavior.
"Gracious heaven!" cried he, still grasping his hand; "can you have
forgotten your friend Pembroke Somerset?"
The ingenuous heart of Thaddeus acknowledged the words and manner of
Pembroke to be the language of truth. Trusting that some mistake had
involved his former conduct, he at once cast off suspicion, and
throwing his arms around him, strained him to his breast and burst
into tears.
Lady Tinemouth, who during this scene stood mute with surprise, now
advanced to the friends, who were weeping on each other's necks, and
taking a hand of each, "My dear Sobieski," cried she, "why did you
withhold the knowledge of this friendship from me? Had you told me
that you and Mr. Somerset were acquainted, this happy meeting might
have been accomplished sooner."
"Yes," replied Pembroke, turning to the countess, and wiping away the
tears which were trembling on his cheek; "nothing could have given me
pain at this moment but the conviction that he who was the preserver
of my life, and my most generous protector, should in this country
have endured the most abject distress rather than let me know it was
in my power to be grateful."
Thaddeus took out his handkerchief, and for a few moments concealed
his face. The countess looked on him with tenderness; and believing
he would sooner regain composure were he alone with his friend, she
stole unobserved out of the room.
Pembroke affectionately resumed: "But I hope, dear Sobieski, you will
never leave me more. I have an excellent father, who, when he is made
acquainted with my obligations to you and your noble family, will
glory in loving you as a son."
Having subdued "the woman in his heart," Thaddeus raised his head
with an expression in his eyes far different from that which had
chilled the blood of Pembroke on their first encounter.
"Circumstances," said he, "dear Somerset, have made me greatly injure
you. A strange neglect on your side, since we separated at Villanow,
gave the first blow to my confidence in your friendship. Though I
lost your direct address, I wrote to you often, and yet you
persevered in silence. After having witnessed the destruction of all
that was dear to me in Poland, and then of Poland itself, when I came
to England I wished to give your faithfulness another chance. I
addressed two letters to you. I even delivered the last at your door
myself, and I saw you in the window when I sent it in."
"By all that is sacred," cried Pembroke, vehemently, and amazed, "I
never saw any letter from you! I wrote you many. I never heard of
those you mention. Indeed, I should even now have been ignorant of
the palatine's and your mother's cruel fate had it not been too
circumstantially related in the newspapers."
"I believe you," returned Thaddeus, drawing an agonizing sigh at the
dreadful picture which the last sentence recalled. "I believe you;
though at the time of which I speak, I thought otherwise, for both my
last letters were re-enclosed to me in a blank cover, directed as if
by your hand, and brought by a servant, with a message that there was
no answer."
"Amazing!" exclaimed Somerset; "there must be some horrible
treachery! Can it be that some lurking foreign spy got amongst my
servants at Dantzic, and has been this traitor ever since? Oh,
Thaddeus!" cried he, abruptly interrupting himself, and grasping his
hand, "I would have flown to you, had it been to meet death, instead
of the greatest joy Heaven could bestow upon me. But why did you not
come in yourself? then no mistake could have happened! Oh, why did
you not come in?"
"Because I was uncertain of your sentiments. My first letter remained
unnoticed: and my heart, dear Somerset," added he, pressing his hand,
"would not stoop to solicitation."
"Solicitation!" exclaimed Pembroke, with warmth; "you have a right to
demand my life! But there is some deep villany in this affair;
nothing else could have carried it through. Oh, if anybody belonging
to me have dared to open these letters--Oh, Sobieski!" cried he,
interrupting himself, "how you must have despised me!"
"I was afflicted," returned Thaddeus, "that the man whom my family so
warmly loved could prove so unworthy; and afterwards, whenever I met
you in the streets, which I think was more than once or twice, I
confess that to pass you cut me to the heart."
"And you have met me?" exclaimed Pembroke, "and I not see you; I
cannot comprehend it."
"Yes," answered Thaddeus; "and the first time was going into the
playhouse. I believe I called after you."
"Is it not now ten months since?" returned Pembroke. "I remember very
well that some one called out my name in a voice that seemed known to
me, while I was handing Lady Calthorpe and her sister into the porch.
I looked about, but not seeing any one I knew, I thought I must have
been mistaken. But why, dear Sobieski, why did you not follow me into
the theatre?"
Thaddeus shook his head and smiled languidly. "My poverty would not
permit," replied he; "but I waited in the hall until everybody left
the house, in hopes of intercepting you as you passed again."
Pembroke sprung from his chair at these words, and with vehemence
exclaimed, "I see it! That hypocrite Loftus is at the bottom of it!
He followed me into the theatre; he must have seen you, and his
cursed selfishness was alarmed. Yes; it is no foreign traitor! it
must be he! He would not allow me to return that way. When I said I
would, he told me a thousand lies about the carriages coming round;
and I, believing him, went out by another door. I will tax him of it
to his face!"
"Who is Mr. Loftus?" inquired Thaddeus, surprised at his friend's
suspicion; "I do not know the man."
"What!" returned Pembroke, "don't you remember that Loftus is the
name of my scoundrel tutor who persuaded me to volunteer against
Poland? To screen his baseness I have brought all this upon myself."
"Now I recollect it," replied Thaddeus; "but I never saw him."
"Yet I am not less certain that I am right," replied Somerset. "I
will tell you my reasons. After I quitted Villanow, you may remember
I was to meet him at Dantzic. Before we left the port, he implored,
almost on his knees, that in pity to his mother and sisters, whom he
said he supported out of his salary, I would refrain from incensing
my parents against him by relating any circumstance of our visit to
Poland. The man shed tears as he spoke; and, like a fool, I consented
to keep the secret till the Vicar of Somerset (a poor soul, still ill
of dropsy) dies, and he be in possession of the living. When we
landed in England, I found the cause of my sudden recall had been the
illness of my dear mother. But Heaven denied me the happiness of
beholding her again; she had been buried two days before I reached
the shore." Pembroke paused a moment, and then resumed: "For near a
month after my return, I could not quit my room; on my recovery, I
wrote both to you and to the palatine. But I still locked up your
names within my heart, the old rector being yet in existence. I
repeated my letters at least every six weeks during the first year of
our separation, though you persisted in being silent. Hurt as I was
at this neglect, I believed that gratitude demanded some sacrifices
from pride, and I continued to write even till the spring following.
Meanwhile the papers of the day teemed with Sobieski's actions--
Sobieski's fame; and supposing that increasing glory had blotted me
out of your memory, I resolved thenceforth to regard our friendship
as a dream, and never to speak of it more."
Confounded at this double misapprehension, Thaddeus with a glowing
countenance expressed his regret for having doubted his friend, and
repeating the assurance of having been punctual to his promise of
correspondence, even when he dreamed him inconstant, acknowledged
that nothing but a premeditated scheme could have effected so many
disappointments.
"Ay," returned Pembroke, reddening with awakened anger; "I could
swear that Mr. Loftus has all my letters in his bureau at this
moment! No house ever gave a man a better opportunity to play the
rogue in than ours. It is a custom with us to lay our letters every
morning on the hall-table, whence they are sent to the office; and
when the post arrives they are spread out in the same way, that their
several owners may take them as they pass to breakfast. From this
arrangement I cannot doubt the means by which Mr. Loftus, under the
hope of separating us forever, has intercepted every letter to you
and every letter from you. I suppose the wretch feared I might become
impatient, and break my engagement if our correspondence were
allowed. He trembled lest the business should be blown before the
rector died, and he, in consequence, lose both the expected living
and his present situation about Lord Avon. A villain! for once he has
judged rightly. I will unmask him to my father, and show him what it
is to purchase advancement at the expense of honor and justice."
Thaddeus, who could not withhold immediate credit to these evidences
of chicanery, tried to calm the violence of his friend, who only
answered by insisting on having his company back with him to Somerset
Castle.
"I long to present you to my father," cried he. "When I tell him who
you are, of your kindness to me, how rejoiced will he be! How happy,
how proud to have you his guest; to show the grandson of the Palatine
of Masovia the warm gratitude of a Briton's heart! Indeed, Sobieski,
you will love him, for he is generous and noble, like your
inestimable grandfather. Besides," added he, smiling with a sudden
recollection, "there is my lovely cousin, Mary Beaufort, who I verily
believe will fly into your arms!"
The blood rushed over the cheeks of Thaddeus at this speech of his
friend, and suppressing a bitter sigh, he shook his head.
"Don't look so like an infidel," resumed Somerset. "If you have any
doubts of possessing her most precious feelings, I can put you out of
your suspense by a single sentence! When Lady Dundas's household,
with myself amongst them (for little did I suspect I was joining the
cry against my friend), were asserting the most flagrant instances of
your deceit to Euphemia, Mary alone withstood the tide of malice, and
compelled me to release you."
"Gracious Providence!" cried Thaddeus, catching Pembroke's hand, and
looking eagerly and with agitation in his face "was it you who came
to my prison? Was it Miss Beaufort who visited my lodgings?"
"Indeed it was," returned his friend, "and I blush for my self that I
quitted Newgate without an interview. Had I followed the dictates of
common courtesy, in the fulfilment of my commission, I should have
seen you; and then, what pain would have been spared my dear cousin!
What a joyful surprise would have awaited myself!"
Thaddeus could only reply by pressing his friend's hand. His brain
whirled. He could not decide on the nature of his feelings; one
moment he would have given worlds to throw himself at Miss Beaufort's
feet, and the next he trembled at the prospect of meeting her so
soon.
"Dear Sobieski!" cried Pembroke, "how strangely you receive this
intelligence! Is it possible such sentiments from Mary Beaufort can
be regarded by a soul like yours with coldness?"
"O no!" cried the count, his fine face flushed with emotion. "I adore
Miss Beaufort. Her virtues possess my whole heart. But can I forget
that I have only that heart to offer? Can I forget that I am a
beggar?--that even now I exist on her bounty?" The eyes of Thaddeus,
and the sudden tremor which shook his frame, finished this appeal to
his fate.
Pembroke found it enter his soul. To hide its effect, he threw
himself on his friend's breast, and exclaimed, "Do not injure me and
my father by such thoughts. You are come, dearest Sobieski, to a
second home. Sir Robert Somerset will consider himself ennobled in
supplying the place of your lamented grandfather--in endowing you
like a son! Oh, Thaddeus, you must be my cousin, dear as a brother,
as well as my friend!"
Thaddeus replied with an agitated affection as true as that of the
generous speaker. "But," added he, "I must not allow the noble heart
of my now regained Somerset to believe that I can live a dependant on
any power but the Author of my being. Therefore, if Sir Robert
Somerset will assist me to procure some unobtrusive way of acquiring
my own support in the simplicity I wish, I shall thank him from my
soul. In no other way my kindest friend, can I ever be brought to tax
the munificence of your father."
Pembroke colored at this, and exclaimed, in a voice of distress and
displeasure, "Sobieski! what can you mean? Do you imagine that ever
my father or myself can forget that you were little less than a
prince in your own country?--that when in so high a station you
treated me like a brother; that you preserved me even when I lifted
my arm against your life. Can we be such monsters as to forget all
this, or to think that we act justly by you in permitting you to
labor for your bread? No, Thaddeus; my very soul spurns the idea.
Your mother sheltered me as a son; and I insist that you allow my
father to perform the same part by you! Besides, you shall not be
idle; you may have a commission in the army, and I will follow you."
The count pressed the hand of his friend, and looking gratefully but
mournfully in his face, replied, "Had I a hundred tongues, my
generous Pembroke, I could not express my sense of your friendship;
it is indeed a cordial to my heart; it imparts to me an earnest of
happiness which I thought had fled forever. But it shall not allure
me from my principles. I am resolved not to live a life of indolent
uselessness; and I cannot, at this period, enter the British army.
No," added he, emotion elevating his tone and manner; "rather would I
toil for subsistence by the sweat of my brow than be subjected to the
necessity of acting in concert with those ravagers who destroyed my
country! I cannot fight by the side of the allied powers who
dismembered it! I cannot enlist under the allies! I will not be led
out to devastation! Mine was, and ever shall be, a defensive sword;
and should danger threaten England, I would be as ready to withstand
her enemies as I ardently, though ineffectually, opposed those of
unhappy Poland."
Pembroke recognized the devoted soul of Thaddeus of Warsaw in this
lofty burst of enthusiasm; and aware that his father's munificence
and manner of conferring it would go further towards removing these
scruples than all his own arguments, he did not attempt to combat a
resolution which he knew he could not subdue, but tried to prevail
with him to become his guest until something could be arranged to
suit his wishes.
With an unuttered emotion at the thought of meeting Miss Beaufort,
Thaddeus had just consented to accompany Somerset to the Castle,
after Sir Robert had been apprized of his coming, when the countess's
old and faithfully attached manservant entered, and respectfully
informed her guests that his lady, not willing to disturb their
conversation, had retired to her room for the night, but that beds
were prepared for them in the Abbey, and she hoped to meet both
friends at her breakfast table in the morning. The honest man then
added, "It was now past eleven o'clock; and after their honors had
partaken of their yet untasted refreshment, he would be ready to
attend them to their chambers."
Pembroke started up at this, and shaking his friend warm by the hand,
bade him, he said, "a short farewell;" and hastening down the hill,
arrived at the gate of the Wold Lodge just at the turn of midnight.
At an early hour the next morning he gave orders to his groom, wrote
a slight apology to Shafto for his abrupt departure, and, mounting
his fleet horse, galloped away full of delight towards Somerset
Castle.